Untitled for now

[mfwilkie]

Revision with muh cara's suggestions, and
voila! A sonnet.

Ice-dressed rain—a hard gloss finish to the snow
that fell an inch an hour for a while—
a four-inch powder is my seasoned guess.
The roof is silent. Music finds the car,
and now and then the windows, when the wind
shifts stiff insistence (noted emphasis).
Nothing but sleep left to endure. Just now,
I'm not too fond of compensated living;
the music, flat—a drone-beat pelting on
like life enduring loss too many days
before change grabs at rhythms of its own
to steady an experience. Like now.

Sometimes the future lays out moments filled
with struggle, but they pass and we move on.




Original

Ice-dressed rain—a hard gloss finish to the snow
that fell an inch an hour for a while—
four inches of powder, my/a seasoned guess.
The roof is silent. Music finds the car,
and now and then the windows when the wind
bends/shifts its stiff insistence for emphasis.
Nothing but sleep left to endure. Just now,
I'm not too fond of compensated living;
the music is flat—a drone pelting on
like life enduring loss too many days
before change grabs a rhythm of its own.

[David Nelson Bradsher]

Great stuff, Maggie. I played with it.

Ice-dressed rain—a hard gloss finish to the snow
that fell an inch an hour for a while—
a four-inch powder is my seasoned guess.
The roof is silent. Music finds the car,
and now and then the windows, when the wind
shifts stiff insistence for an emphasis.
Nothing but sleep left to endure. Just now,
I'm not too fond of compensated living;
the music, flat—a drone-beat pelting on
like life enduring loss too many days
before change grabs a rhythm of its own.

[mfwilkie]

That's the flow I needed, D.

Thanks ever so...

Mags